Sin and Salvation
by Ekwy
Summary: A collection of six Agent Angel ficlets, centering around Brice's Fall from Heaven. Inspired by six scents from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.
1. Sea of Glass

**A/N:** The six ficlets in this story are all inspired by gorgeous perfume oils from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. The italics at the beginning are descriptions of the perfumes. This story will be rated high for later chapters.

Disclaimer: The idea for writing ficlets based on perfume descriptions isn't mine, but belongs to the mod of 6impearfics at Livejournal. Brice belongs to Annie Dalton, while Astrid is an OC. These scent descriptions belong to the people at BPAL. I think that's all!

Shout-out to Puredeadthingy, who got me hooked on both BPAL perfumes and the Agent Angel books. Love ya, honey! :)

**Sea of Glass**

_Upon the Sea of Glass, glowing with the perfection of spiritual union and the radiance of true wisdom, rests the throne of God. A scent of inimitable purity, crystalline grace, and limitless light._

You breathe in, you breathe out. Then you put things behind you. That's how you meditate. You let go of thoughts that distract you; you free your mind and focus solely on breathing.

Brice knows this. He is sitting on the beach by the sea, the Heavenly City at his back and the vastness of the rest of Paradise pretty much at his feet. The birds are singing, and the sun is on its way down, bathing everything in a warm, golden light. The air smells almost exactly like lilacs.

Heaven is beautiful. Everything about it is pure and good, There is no blackmail, no double-crossing, no bribes, no pain.

_I don't deserve this._

You breathe in, you breathe out.

_I can't believe I died. Shit. What the hell do I do now?_

You put things behind you.

_Who's taking care of Dom?_

You let go of thoughts that distract you.

Brice's eyes snap open. Damn. He can't concentrate on meditation, because his head is filled with worries, uncertainty and doubt.

Michael says that they have people watching over Dom. Yeah, right... Brice hasn't been in Heaven for very long, but he didn't trust these angels. Fucking goodie-goodies... Dom was a de Winter kid. That family had been causing trouble since time began and were in deep with the real bad guys. So why the hell would Heaven go through the time and effort to keep their eyes on a "bad seed" like Dominic de Winter?

They wouldn't. They'd let Dom turn into a real member of the family, and that would be the end of it. Why would they bother to do otherwise?

Brice clenches his hands where he sits.

In all of Dom's life, only one person ever truly cared, and that was his big brother Brice. Unfortunately that big brother has managed to go and get himself killed some time ago (who counts time in Heaven?), leaving the three-year old all alone in an altogether hostile world. Now there was no one.

You breathe in and out.

You put it behind you.

You occupy your mind.

The calmness of the sea and the fading sunlight cannot soothe him. He is cold and distant. He doesn't _want_ to be comforted, doesn't deserve it, doesn't long for it at all.

In the distance, someone is approaching. Brice squints to see who it is. He doesn't recognise the woman sauntering up to him, with hips that are swaying invitingly and dark hair that is cascading down her shoulders, but he thinks she is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen until he noticed her eyes. They are black as onyx, and empty of all emotions. Dead eyes.

When she speaks her voice is soft and putting, and her words make perfect sense. Leave Heaven? Take care of Dom himself? Why not. He doesn't belong here, that's for damn sure, and his little brother needs him. It's worth the pain. It's worth anything.

Her name is Astrid. Brice takes her hand and leaves the beach, which is now basking in moonlight.

Then he lets himself Fall.


	2. Fallen

Disclaimer: The idea for writing ficlets based on perfume descriptions isn't mine, but belongs to the mod of 6impearfics at Livejournal. Brice belongs to Annie Dalton, while Astrid is an OC. These scent descriptions belong to the people at BPAL. I think that's all!

**Fallen**

_Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav'n. This is our song to Lucifer, Lucis Ferre, Heosphoros, the Morning Star, the Brilliant One and the Son of the Morning. The essence of overweening pride and unearthly angelic beauty. A regal scent, glowing darkly, elegant and patrician, but unfathomably desolate. Cherubic white sandalwood and golden musk with a dark halo of amber, a breath of imperial florals, unbending woods, and the shadow cast by vetiver and violet._

The cold starts in his hand. It is the one which Astrid's slender fingers are curled around, and her grip goes from gentle to steely as he Falls with her, further and further until he is sure they ought to have hit the ground by now. But still they fall, and his hand feels like a block of ice. The chill spreads, sending agonising pains up through his arm, creeping over his shoulder, invading his body...

If Brice is screaming, he doesn't hear it himself. He tries to focus on the woman next to him instead of his own misery, but it works badly. Through misty eyes he sees her face, pale and tense with determination, and with the blacker-than-black eyes completely devoid of emotion. She is a demon, he realises that. He isn't stupid. He is falling from Heaven holding hands with a demon, and somehow he cannot even begin to feel frightened. She can destroy him. She hasn't. Instead she is clinging to his hand, and he can't feel it through the cold.

When the numbness reaches his heart he knows, with a certain calm inevitability, that this is it. There is no turning back, and he does not wish for it. If this is what he has to do for his little brother, then he will do it. It is exceedingly simple, and a sacrifice he is all too ready to make.

There is a burning sensation on his back, contrasting the cold and making him hiss from the pain. Somehow it feels a lot more agonising than it should... He realises that it's his wings burning. Once he understands that, it's heartbreaking and comforting at the same time. Despite everything, there are some things that make sense. He is losing his wings. As he should. It isn't as if he's earned them.

When they land, he is still numb. His teeth are chattering, his skin coloured a faint blue, and his head is hurting like nothing's ever hurt before. A pounding, furious ache as his connections with Heaven shatter and fizz, and it goes on for hours and hours. He is crumbled in a heap, whimpering like a child at the pain, until it goes away.

Then he stands clumsily, his face frozen in an odd sort of dignified expression. Astrid smiles at him.

"What lovely eyes you have, dear boy," she purrs and strokes his cheek. "Oh yes... I think you and I shall get along very well... But first, there is work to be done. Are you ready?"

Brice nods, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. "I was born ready, sweetheart."


	3. Anathema

Disclaimer: The same as for every chapter applies.

**A/N:** And we are officially in Mature rating with this chapter, people. Just a warning, if you're underage.

**Anathema**

_A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle._

As he moves in her and lets her touch ignite fires in his mind, in his body, he wonders if there was ever such a thing as love or if it's only a pretty fairy tale you lull children to sleep with at night. It feels like a fantasy, difficult to believe in a place like this.

Maybe lust is as good as it gets, in Hell. And hey, it's not bad. It's great, actually. Astrid smells sweet and heady, like some exotic and poisonous flower, and she writhes against him, welcoming him. Claiming and demanding she is, the demoness, and when she orders him to do it harder he just obeys, because this is escape for both of them. In her embrace he can focus on her scent instead of the heavy stink of sulphur and brimstone that surrounds everything here, and he can forget. It's good. It's great. It makes it more bearable.

She asks him to hurt her, and he closes his hands around her throat, squeezing without hesitating. She laughs hoarsely, her long fingernails digging into his back. And he deserves the pain, welcomes it as a distraction. He deserves more.

More he gets. Blood is trickling down his back from where her nails pierced his skin, and she claws up his neck, pulling at his hair and forcing him down to kiss her. Her lips are as soft as rose petals, but they are pulled back soon and reveal her sharp, brilliantly white teeth. She chews on his bottom lip until he can feel the faint taste of iron on his tongue, and then his body tenses and he collapses on top of her, panting heavily, for a second lost in post-coital bliss. It won't last long, he knows, so he enjoys the few short moments when everything is fine, before his resentment and shame returns.

He has been dead for thirteen months. Ten of those have been spent in Hell.

He is sixteen years old.


	4. Dirty

**Dirty**

_A wonderful antidote to an all-nighter oozing with drunken, addled perversion and debauchery. A fresh, crisp white linen scent: perfectly clean, perfectly breezy._

He doesn't know if Astrid ever truly sleeps. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is heavy, so she does seem to be doing it, yet her features are tense in a way that does not belong in sleep. She is always alert, always ready. But she tries. Perhaps she is clinging to shreds of humanity, perhaps it is only out of habit. Brice watches her and wonders to himself what she dreams of, here in the bed with the strangely clean sheets.

The sweat on her body has dried, and her sweet perfume has faded into the same deceptively clean scent of crisp linen. He feels fooled by it for a moment, before he remembers what she is, what he is, what this is.

He feels sick with himself for not being able to resist her. The things she makes him do, both in bed and against humanity in general, it's twisted and sick. Perverted. Wrong. But she calls to him like a siren, and he needs her. This is not love. Far from it. It's lust, and want, and desire, furious, demanding and raw. She could just as well go to someone else, yet she chooses him, again and again.

He once asked her why she came to him. She had smiled, without warmth, and caressed his cheek with her nail in what would have been an affectionate gesture, had it come from anyone but Astrid. Now it was just her, putting her mark of ownership on him. Brice had pulled back then, in anger, but that night she had sought his bed and he had not protested.

He hates her because she twists him out of shape, away from the angel he was supposed to be. He loves her for exactly the same reason.

Who wants to be one of those fucking little halo-polishers anyway... That's what he asks himself, before he falls asleep. Astrid's innocent scent is sticky and suffocating in his throat.

He dreams that he is drowning.


	5. Dorian

**Dorian**

_The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea._

The first time he sees Melanie Beeby, it's not really the first time at all. Her energy is so familiar, yet he can't place it in his memory, and he can feel a zing in his head, like something inside him tries to remember who she is and why he recognises her. He comes up with nothing, and that makes him irritated, which he hides just like he hides every emotion but scorn, nowadays.

Mel crouches beside the terrified Molly as bombs rains down upon the house, and her voice is soft and comforting even though the little girl can't hear her. Brice gave her a quick once-over, in that one split second before he spoke. She's... cute, he guesses. Not beautiful, she's much too young to be that, but the overall impression is of a girl who has the potential to be very attractive, in a few years. When she's filled out a bit.

It's not her looks that interest him. It's the way her face goes soft when she reaches out after Molly, searching to soothe the child who's mother is away. It's the way she speaks. Comforting. As if she genuinely believes that everything, when it comes down to it, really will be okay.

What does she know? Some little angel brat, barely setting her foot outside of Heaven... He can read her mind like an open book, and feels the chill running down her spine when she hears his voice. She knows him too. Somehow it pleases him that she does.

She is defensive, as she should be. They're enemies, after all. Brice is condescending in return, calls her 'diddums' and shrugs it off when she brings herself out of the half-trance he put her in. Then she wishes him to leave. She's all _scrappy_, and _angry_, and it's actually rather amusing. Sweet, in a way, that she tries so hard... He doesn't plan on leaving, really. This strange, familiar girl does not wield that sort of power of him...

And still he does let himself vanish into thin air. He doesn't know why. Probably because she asked it of him, and the part of him that knows her doesn't want her upset with him... Though what kind of fucking stupid thought is that?

He can't stand being around her, and still a part of him wants nothing more than letting her take his hand and guide him back to Heaven. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, a second time around... One look at her face shattered everything he built up, the icy exterior he cultivated through the years, and now he felt uncertain about everything. He does not speak to Astrid about it, and she doesn't bring it up.

But he never lets her touch him again.


	6. Rose Cross

**Rose Cross**

_A profound symbol of an individual's personal initiatic process, spiritual refinement and evolution, synthesis, grace found as a result of trial and suffering, and the alchemical process by which we transform the raw essence of our souls through light in extension. This is a holy oil, a representation of the triumph of spirit over matter: purest rose with sacred frankincense._

He calls her salvation, and that is what she is. She says that she believes in him. Somehow that makes it worth the effort of staying on the light side. It'd be easy to just leave it, just not bother with trying to be the good guy anymore because it's so hard, but then she looks at him with calm, dark eyes and she smiles just for him. And it gets easier to do what's right.

She seems to really think that there is good in him. He's been in the dark for so long now that he can't understand how she can possibly believe that, but she does. It's visible in every glance she gives him, every shy smile and light touch of pink on her cheeks when she catches him looking at her.

She trusts him. This sweet, caring, absolutely flawless and amazing angel girl, she really does think that he's worth it in the end. Sometimes that knowledge hurts him, and sometimes he's so thankful that he just wants to hold her and never let go.

The first time he kissed her was under the stars. They were on that summer camp, doing all sorts of crazy stunts, and they had been canoeing downstream earlier that day. They had just had their dinner, and they were talking in low voices, not wanting anyone else to hear. Lola told him about her life, before she'd been shot and how happy she was here in Heaven, though sometimes she still missed her grandmother, and her brothers. Brice told her about his life, before that one fateful night when it'd ended, and about his mother, and Dom. And she never judged, never questioned his reasons for falling, just looked at him with a soft, caring expression in her eyes. It was so intense that he often had to look away.

And one night he had kissed her. It just happened. She'd been laughing at some joke he'd told her, her throaty, energetic laughter ringing out and filling the sweetly scented night with the sound, and then it had stopped because he had leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

She'd been a little surprised. But, as he thinks now afterwards with a fair amount of satisfaction, she had clearly not minded much. That was the first time they had kissed, but not the last. Far from it. Brice kisses her whenever he gets the chance to. When they're alone together, preferably. He's still not good with public displays of affection. Holding her hand is okay, but kissing is... it's too much. Lola doesn't mind.

He doesn't deserve her. What did he ever do to be worthy of a second chance? Considering how he treated one of her friends, that Reuben... That poor angel boy had gotten a nasty beating from Brice. Water under the bridge now, as far as Reuben is concerned, and Lola knows that Brice truly regrets it. And what he did to Mel... She still hasn't forgiven him for it, and Brice can't talk to her about it. She hates him. She wishes that he were out of Heaven. He doesn't know how to deal with that.

"She'll come around," says Lola calmingly and smiles. "It's not as easy for her. You just have to give her some time, maybe show her somehow that you're not the same guy."

He doesn't know how to do that, and he doesn't know why he even cares. Why Mel is important. Maybe it's because she's Lola's best friend, and it wouldn't do him any favours to completely alienate his girlfriend's best friend... Yeah, that has to be it.

Maybe Mel was the reason he returned to Heaven.

But Lola's the reason he'll stay.

_Fin. _


End file.
